Abscond from Azkaban
by Nika Csikszentmihalyi
Summary: Azkaban!Harry story. Years into his incarceration, Harry Potter is finally found innocent of crimes he did not commit. But he has taken freedom into his own hands, and the former Boy-Who-Lived is nowhere to be found. PreHBP/DH very slow WIP
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: You think I own the Potterverse? Are you delusional or what?

A/N: YAY! The first chapter's here! This is a Harry-Goes-To-Azkaban fic that I started working on a looooong time ago. I _think _it's post OOTP, but I can't be sure. (Clearly Pre-HBP and DH.) Keep in mind that I never said that this is well written, simply just that it _is _written. It holds a bit of the same plot that most Harry-in-Azkaban fics have in the beginning, but I was planning on a twist (or at least what _**I **_thought was a twist).

Prologue

"Harry James Potter, you have been accused of the torture and murder of Ginerva Weasley, the torture and murder of Cho Chang, the rape and torture of Susan Bones, and the murders of Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Neville Longbottom, and Remus Lupin. Do you deny it?"

"I didn't do it! I swear I didn't!" Harry tried to defend himself, yet to no avail.

He was in the midst o the largest court room on trial for crimes that no one but he believed he was innocent of. The prosecutor was rattling off offenses like they were in a new song by the Weird Sisters…. And Harry didn't do them—not one.

"The Wizemagot finds you, Harry James Potter," the man that Harry didn't recognize said….

The courtroom stood still. You couldn't have heard a pin drop. That is in the event that someone was stupid enough to actually _drop_ a pin.

"….guilty of all aforementioned offenses…."

Harry could barely hear anymore. All he knew was that he didn't do it. A cold, closed look haunted his eyes.

"….sentenced to life in Azkaban, though according to the Code of Underage Wizards, not eligible for the Dementor's Kiss…."

_Eligible_, thought Harry. _They have the gall to try to make something worse that death sound like a privilege! Why don't these fools believe me, damnit? I didn't do this! I was forced into watching it happen! Hell, they wouldn't believe me if I told them… but damn it, it's worth a try._

But at that moment, they came. No, not the men in white coats to take him to the crazy house, but the Dementors in black robes to take him to Azkaban. He had no wand… even wandless magic was no good now… he couldn't make a Patronus. He got colder and colder, and then he heard it. His mother, his father… both in the last minutes of their lives…

"…. take Harry and go…"

….Voldemort…..

"….move aside, silly girl….."

….Malfoy, Goyle….

"…..oh, we'll have _fun_ tonight, little mudblood…."

….Ginny—gone. Cho—dead. Barely knew Susan, but hell, she's gone too. Crabbe and Goyle—could honestly care less—but dead. Remus, Moony. Dead….

The visions of the dead bodies; the playthings of a twisted mind. He saw it. He heard it. The rushing noise in his head grew louder, LOUDER. The visions of those he knew came faster, _faster_.

louder, faster, Still Louder, Still Faster, TOO LOUD, TOO FAST!

And the pain was unbearable, so he knew no more.

* * *

Chapter One

"Albus, would you _kindly_ get to the point? All this talk about what I would do if I were unfairly imprisoned seems hardly relevant." Severus Snape sat in the Headmistress's office at Hogwarts, across from Albus Dumbledore, and he was becoming more irritated by the minute. How such a translucent man could be so unclear was beyond Severus's comprehension.

"Seven years ago, a sixteen year-old student was imprisoned," Albus said, trying to clear things, "for a crime, or crimes, rather, that he did not commit."

The confused look on Severus' face deepened. Slytherin or not, this made no sense. "I'm sorry, Albus, I don't follow—" And then a look of comprehension crossed the baffled man's face. "You mean Potter was innocent?"

"Indeed, Severus, he was," the headmaster told his potions professor and ex-spy.

"So we not only put another innocent man, well boy at the time, in Azkaban, but Aurors have been hunting an innocent since he escaped four years ago? _And you knew?_"

"No, no! Merlin no! You honestly believe that I would have allowed the Aurors to search for him and I knew of his innocence? Only recently have I acquired this bit of information."

"How?" asked Snape. "Surely not through the Dark Lord…"

"Actually yes, although it was more through Voldemort by way of a recently deceased follower."

Severus could only remember one of the dark lord's followers dying recently, but it surely wasn't...

"Indeed, Severus, indeed. Vincent Crabbe, Sr. I told you and the Order that he came to Hogwarts seeking forgiveness, but I left out what he told me until I could be certain. Yes, he confessed every bit of it, but then of course–"

"Died right there on the front steps of Hogwarts. So the Aurors don't know."

Dumbledore's face was grim. "Yes, very good, Severus. My memories cannot be pulled, and I can't be given Veritaserum, so Harry's only legal witness is gone. But on to the matter for which I called you."

"You mean to tell me that Potter's innocence had nothing to do with your calling for me?" The potions master asked, the relief everything but obvious in his voice.

"Well, no," Dumbledore began, but upon seeing Severus beginning to relax, he finished the sentence, "and yes." Snape instantly tensed into a frown, his entire body poised with annoyance. "I'm not asking for you to try to find him, but I am asking for your help in determining a way of pinpointing his location."

_This may not be so bad,_ Severus thought as he listened to Dumbledore's request. "But as we've learned over the last four years," Snape said aloud, "Potter will not be found if he does not desire to be."

"Yes, this is true. Even when the ministry _is _able to track his magical signature, which he has become quite the expert at masking, they haven't been able to catch him. You, however, having seen various memories of Mr. Potter, may be able to string some of this information together to figure possible hiding places. Are you willing to do this?"

"Before I agree, there is one question. Is there any truth to Trelawney's first prediction?"

"Yes, Severus, there is. If young Harry will not return, he sentences both the magical and muggle worlds to destruction."

"In that case, I will do all that I can to prevent this," said Severus solemnly.

"Thank you, Severus. It is good to have such loyal wizards on the side of light. Are you absolutely positive that you were not a Hufflepuff in a previous life?"

Snape looked incredulously at Dumbledore as though he'd run naked out of the forbidden forest.

And with that, Severus Snape and the ghost of Albus Dumbledore bid each other farewell; Snape to the Great Hall for dinner and then to his chambers for a look through the Pensieve, and Albus still in the office, as he no longer had the need (or ability, for that matter) to eat.

And under a cloudy sky, three thousand miles away on a windy mountain cliff stood a lonely green-eyed figure, desperately wondering where to run next.

* * *

In the next chapter, the plan was to:

Go back to Harry's POV—have flashbacks of what happened the last 7 yrs.—revisit old friends (they're actually enemies, now)—encounters with Aurors not yet informed of Harry's innocence.

Also...

-I know what Nearly Headless Nick said about ghosts, but I wanted Dumbledore to be dead. I hadn't really seen that prior to HBP (mind you, I wrote this preHBP myself--saw it coming! lol). I couldn't have him completely gone though, because he's the only character that could just spout information out of nowhere, and you don't have to know where he learned it, or found it out.

-This isn't going to be a 'Superpower Harry' story, but he was going to be at least powerful as Dumbledore was in his prime.

-Maybe slash, maybe no pairing; depends on what I write best, as well as what reviews say.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Alright sir, that will be £296."

A smiling hostess stated the price total for 2 days/3 nights in a run of the mill hotel outside the London city limits. The man standing on the opposite side of the counter reached for his wallet in the rear pocket of his jeans. He was of medium build with brown hair, hazel eyes, and rectangular glasses—not an eyesore, but nothing spectacular all the same. Yet still, there was something odd about the man; there was something in the air about him that just wasn't right. It could have been in the faint shifting of his eyes or perhaps the manner in which he held his head slightly tilted downwards. At any rate, he gave a small smile at the young woman as he paid with the paper notes.

"Thank you sir, you will be in room 722. Would you like assistance with your bags?" the kind concierge politely inquired.

"No—," he stopped to clear his throat, "No, thank you, that won't be necessary," replied the man gruffly.

"Well alright sir, have a good night and enjoy your stay!"

The mysterious man gave a nod, grabbed his one bag, a small rolling suitcase, and he leisurely made his way toward the elevators. As the hostess looked on before turning to her next guest, she silently concluded that yes, there was certainly something off about him.

* * *

Finally in the privacy of the modest little hotel room, Harry looked into the vanity set and wandlessly removed the glamour enchantments - a little trick he'd picked up on the streets of his first fugitive home, some nameless busy city. He hadn't been sure exactly where he was, but no one had recognized him, and learning magic from homeless men turned out to be quite helpful. Removing the glamour made his brown hair much darker, his hazel eyes into a striking green, and transformed his medium build body into that of a slighter man. His physique no longer resembled the healthy man, that just checked into the hotel, but the bones of his twenty-three year old shoulders were nearly visible through his jacket.

Then again, four years on the run from the magical world and its inhabitants could do that to a man. Harry shrugged off his jacket onto the armchair that sat in the corner. The room was small, but a lovely alternative to the wet streets of London. Even at the late hour, a look out the window showed cars zipping down the narrow lanes, splashing the sidewalks with gutter water that smelled like piss. Harry knew what it was like to be covered in the stuff, so yes. The room would do just fine.

For a long time Harry had to wonder if breaking out of the wizard prison had been worth it. Many a night, he sat gazing at the stars, pondering this question. He generally knew that thinking about the past was a bad idea, but sometimes it simply could not be helped. In the time that he had been, dare he say _free_, he'd traveled halfway around the world using various identities as covers to hide himself from the rest of the world. It would not do well for an escaped convict to be spotted simply wandering around. Still, despite his caution, Harry had encountered Aurors at every turn, yet somehow always escaping by the skin of his teeth. McGonagall would probably attribute it to "sheer dumb luck."

For a large portion of that four years, he resided on a small island off the Atlantic coast of the United States, and though the environment much resembled one of those terrible programs on "reality television," he was be able to spend a bit of time there before moving on to the next location—the place was entirely deserted save for a few exotic birds. Annoyingly chipper though they may have been in the mornings, parrots were not out for his head, so he could deal with their squawking for a while. Of course, if it got too out of hand, there were always those times when he had not eaten in days, so those silly birds may have learned one of life's little lessons the hard way: don't piss off the guy that's bigger than you. He'll fuck you sideways with a troll's club.

Harry had certainly learned that lesson the hardest way imaginable. And then served the beginning of a lifetime sentence in Azkaban just to make sure the lesson stuck. Doing his best to eradicate those thoughts from his mind, he put up wards and lay down on the hotel's unremarkable yet comfortable bed for a night of restless sleep.

_He had known better than to think of the past… and now he was stuck dreaming about it. They all progressed in the same manner, as recurring nightmares tend to do. Start off with a dose of Lilly Potter's screams before she was killed, then a helping of Cedric's lifeless body in the dark Little Hangleton graveyard. Shift into scenes from the death of his godfather, Sirius Black; the look of shock and surprise forever etched into his face as he passed through the veil. And finally, to top off the evening, there remained the complete reliving of Ginny, Remus, Neville, Cho, Susan, Crabbe, and Goyle's torture and murder._

_Harry was back in that little-known Hogwarts dungeon —restrained, silenced, and forced to watch every minute of his friends' suffering until the five Death Eaters were finished._

"_We are done here. Scatter the bodies to their staged murder scenes, and alert our Lord that everything has been completed to his satisfaction," Lucius Malfoy commanded two of his Death Eater comrades. They moved to do as directed. The elder Malfoy then turned to the ashen-faced fathers of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. "You both should be ashamed of yourselves, with all your sniveling. It is an honor to have your sons chosen as martyrs for the Dark Lord's cause!"_

_Goyle Sr. was having none of it. "One more word, Lucius. One more word. Is it _your_ son that was just sacrificed? Tell me, where is the little brat? Off hiding in the comforts of your lush manor? Still attached to his mother's breast?"_

"_In respect of your own son's quite recent death, I will overlook your ridiculous lapse in judgment, Goyle. Be warned that I will not hesitate in sending you to join him should you ever again choose to raise your tongue against my son," Lucius stated, not once losing his faultless appearance._

_Crabbe simply remained silent._

_Harry simply felt the urge to violently retch until only his skeleton remained as any indication that he had ever existed. _

_He was being framed for this. For all of it: the rape, the murder, the madness, everything. Looks like Voldemort won with this one; the plan was solid. That muggle magician Houdini wouldn't have been able to get out of this one. Everyone would think him guilty; the evidence would be irrefutable. Harry felt another piece of himself die inside—a piece similar to the one that died when Voldemort returned and similar to the one that died along with Sirius. And Remus. And Ginny. And Neville. And Cho._

_The good part about this part of the torturous dream, however, is that when he feels that piece of him die, consciousness is not too far away. And like clockwork, Harry began to wake._

Waking up to the dark city sky in the early London morning put Harry on edge. In previous hiding spots, like the wilderness or the islands, everything was calm; the slightest irregularity could be realized immediately. But in the city? Not so much. Easier to blend in with the crowd, but it's also easier to let your guard down and get caught. And bugger if you can hear anything suspicious above the incessant hustle and bustle, even in the not-so-still of the night.

'Must move, it's time to get out of here,' Harry thought. Despite the fact that he had only stayed at the place one night, and despite the early hour—it wasn't even dawn—he washed, didn't even bother to pack his meager belongings. He just left them there with the suitcase he'd only just acquired, and made his way downstairs to leave the hotel.

The few times that he bothered to stay in a hotel, Harry never checked out. 'Never let them know you've gone for good,' was one of the many mantras he'd picked up over time. The only certain thing about his many hasty departures is that he was always completely _uncertain_ about where they would end.

With a quick nod to the hostess from the previous night, Harry exited the hotel, briskly walking down the street. It is a shame that he left as quickly as he did, for he might have seen the receptionist retrieve her wand and send a _patronus_ message to her Order of the Phoenix colleagues.

"I may have spotted Lightning. London."

* * *

A/N: Ok, so there's been a bit of confusion about Dumbledore, so here goes my best effort to explain. I'll repeat, THIS IS PRE-HBP, POST-OOTP. So it's NON-CANON for HBP and DH (though I may go ahead and incorporate some of the things from those 2 books). In this story, Snape did NOT kill Dumbledore. Dumbledore's dead, he's a ghost, and that's all you need to know right now for the purposes of reading this story. Should you attempt to infer anything else concerning Dumbledore's life (or lack thereof) without it being explicitly said, I, the author, will not be held responsible for any imminent confusion and the resulting headache. Hope this helps everyone.

Also, I have no idea about the price I put for his room. I just wrote down a number—didn't even think about it in currency I'm familiar with, let alone converting it. Please don't be angry over that little detail.

Thanks to my lovely reviewers!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

* * *

"I'm just not convinced."

That phrase seemed to be the theme of the evening's proceedings in the crowded kitchen of Grimuald Place, as the Order of the Phoenix gathered to follow a lead that they'd received from intelligence placed in a London hotel. Disgruntled, dismayed, and many other "dis-" words that pertained to the situation, most of the Order members were torn on deciding if action should be taken based on the so-called sighting of Harry Potter. After all, he had been successfully hiding from all of them for four years now: why would he be stupid enough to show his face in the center of London after all this time?

Severus Snape tried again at an explanation, while mentally thanking Merlin for the calming draught he'd imbibed only an hour prior.

"As I've attempted to spell out for you imbeciles for the past hour," it would seem that the calming draught was beginning to wear off, "that is _precisely_ why he would go into London at this point. Because none of us are willing to believe that he would! Potter knows how we think as an organization, and that's how he has been so successful evading us in the past! It is well past the time we cease thinking as the Order of the Phoenix, and use some common, criminal, escaped-convict sense!"

"And you'd know all about _that_, wouldn't you Snape?" Ron Weasley interrupted.

"Ronald!" hissed Hermione Granger-Weasley.

"Well it's true," Ron said, his voice gruff and grumbling.

And of course that exchange led to yet another uproar, with accusations against Snape and his past being among the words yelled in the room. Suddenly, everyone in the room seemed to be speaking all at once; Hermione berated Ron for speaking against another Order member; Molly Weasley started a diatribe about how she would _never_ have allowed one of her own to go to Azkaban in the first place.

Long story short, it was complete and utter mayhem.

Until…

"QUIET!"

Every eye turned to the corner where Kingsley Shaklebolt stood, hands clenched into fists at his side, shoulders squared, eyes narrowed, and a scowling mouth that looked about ready to take on anyone who dared speak another word. Next to him sat Mad-Eye Moody, his magical eye spinning quite madly indeed, and his stationary eye pinning the others in the room with an icy glare.

"This," he paused, and gestured as if finding the right word, "Division, this separation, this _hatred_ of each other is not what the Order needs right now. Maybe the lot of you chose to forget, but there's still a dark lord out there, perhaps you've heard of him. He goes by the name Voldemort, ring any bells?" There was of course the obligatory collective flinch at the intonation of Voldemort's name, and Kingsley paused just long enough to look disgusted at their reactions before continuing. "He's been laying low for quite some time, but he'll bloody well be back! And we _need _to find Harry for when _Voldemort_," he placed purposeful emphasis on the name, "decides to strike!"

Mad-Eye spoke up from his place beside Kingsley. "And what's more: Dumbledore, the mad ghost that he is, decided to give Snape the task of finding Potter. And then all you busy-bodies decided to get the entire Merlin-be-damned Order involved! Well so be it, but you're all going to have to listen to somebody, and he's the first in command for this mission—much as I can't stand the bastard…"

"Mad-Eye," Kingsley warned.

"Right," he acquiesced gruffly with a nod of semi-apology in Severus's direction. "Nevertheless, you lot have got to start—"

Mad-Eye's speech was interrupted by Hestia Jones, a squat, dark-haired woman who seemed to suffer from a constant blush. She normally said very little, if anything at all, during these meetings, and such an interruption was quite out of character.

"I just don't understand why Dumbledore can't lead the investigation," she said in a mousy voice. "If he can still stay headmaster at Hogwarts, and still lead the Order, it seems like he could help us to find Harry." Murmurs of agreement filled the crowded kitchen, but no one seemed to know where to turn for an answer. Some looked to Severus, some to Kingsley, and some still waited for Mad-Eye to continue.

Severus took the floor. "There is still a war at our doorsteps, Ms. Jones. If the Headmaster is otherwise occupied, it is none of your concern," he said, and leveled Hestia and her sympathizers with another glare.

Hestia shrank down into her chair, and mad eye went on as though there had been no interruption at all.

"Now, speaking of the lead we got from Auror Tonks this morning! The girl is good, I trained her myself, so I'm damn near positive that it was actually Potter that she saw. Of course, it's been close to fourteen hours since we got the tip, so that information is practically useless. Snape?"

Glad to finally be getting somewhere, now that the Order had been talked into some sort of compliance, Severus said, "Thank you Mad-Eye. Yes, it is probable that Potter has moved again, but since he's of the mindset that we are unaware of his whereabouts, he's likely to stay closer to home, so to speak. Perhaps closer than any of us ever predicted."

"Of course, Little Winging!" Hermione said, her inspired voice ringing through the room.

'Thank Merlin, these dunderheads are finally thinking,' thought Severus. But aloud he said to the rest of the Order, "Precisely."

* * *

Rain still sprinkled steadily when Harry stepped out of the taxi onto the wet street in front of Number 4, Privet Drive. The cab driver vroomed away without waiting for a tip. Harry did not know what he had expected to see, but it certainly was not the sight that greeted him. He stared at his former house with a slack jaw and furrowed brows, and walked slowly up the drive.

Unkempt vines covered an entire side of the house, creeping all the way through the gutters and onto the roof. The grass of the front lawn was nearly up to Harry's knees, and the bushes that he had pruned _himself_ all those summers ago had grown wild and untamed. Number 4 was deserted, and by the looks of it, quite some time ago.

Harry glanced at the other houses on the street, but found them all in the same, pristine condition with which he left. Eerily so. He tried the front door—unlocked.

'It's almost too easy,' Harry thought. 'What happened to them?'

He walked straight through the entryway and into the kitchen, and flicked the light switch. The bulb hanging over the kitchen table flickered briefly on, before going out with a light _pop!_ He turned the sink knob, and cold water came gushing out of the faucet.

'Interesting. So they're still alive and paying the bills, but not here,' Harry concluded.

_Probably hiding from _you, said a niggling voice in the back of his mind. It was true, his face had been plastered all over the UK, just like when Sirius escaped. But Harry's photo hadn't been nearly as flattering.

_Pop! Pop! Pop!_

The sounds of multiple people apparating from the direction of the street shook Harry from his thoughts. He ducked down below the kitchen countertops next to the cabinets and counted to three before chancing a peek above it. With a delicate hand gesture, he used magic to adjust the curtain that hid window above the sink. A group dressed in Aurors robes had gathered in the driveway, their wands just visible beneath their sleeves.

'I knew it had been too easy,' Harry thought. 'Stupid, stupid Potter. You should have left the moment you arrived.'

He crouched back down and mentally ran through the list of spells he had learned to do without a wand. Glamours, summoning charms, unlocking charms, _finite incantatem_… all no good. This would be interesting.

* * *

Author's Note: Yeah, I know, it's a terrible cliffhanger. But it's only that way because I haven't even decided what happens next, so I'm just as unsatisfied as my readers. Poetic, no?

Thanks again for the reviews! You guys are the reason I update at all. On that note, I feel obliged to say that I hardly ever write fan fiction anymore - it's mostly original short stories for me now. (That's why my other fan fics are on hiatus.) That said, I do still get urges every now and then, which result in rare updates like this. So I'll leave it up to you all: should I officially place this story on hiatus as well?


	4. Chapter 4

_The sounds of multiple people apparating from the direction of the street shook Harry from his thoughts. He ducked down below the kitchen countertops next to the cabinets and counted to three before chancing a peek above it. With a delicate hand gesture, he used magic to adjust the curtain that hid window above the sink. A group of Aurors – he could tell by their standard issue navy blue robes – had gathered in the driveway, their wands just visible beneath their sleeves._

_'I knew it had been too easy,' Harry thought. 'Stupid, stupid Potter. You should have left the moment you arrived.'_

_He crouched back down and mentally ran through the list of spells he had learned to do without a wand. Glamours, summoning charms, unlocking charms, finite incantatem… all no good. This would be interesting._

* * *

Harry barely heard the light creak of main entrance door opening, but he definitely heard the shuffling of many pairs of feet entering the house. Then the footsteps all stopped. They couldn't have gotten any farther than the entranceway, unless they had used a charm to muffle the sound. And a bloody good charm that was, too. What Harry would give to have a wand! But he quickly realized that they had not used any such charm, as soft murmuring met his ears. The words were unintelligible from the distance of the kitchen, but Harry could tell that they must have stopped in the entryway to talk amongst themselves. It was odd that they had not yet moved in on him. He removed his shoes to minimize the sound of his own footsteps and moved closer to where the Aurors had gathered, taking extra care to stay low and in the shadows of the walls. He strained to hear what they were saying, but he only caught snippets of different voices that all seemed to be whispering to each other at once.

"...ought to just come out and tell him..."

"...waiting for... hurry up... going to escape... again..."

"...no wand... not even a 5th Year... place surrounded... no way out..."

The more he listened, the less these people sounded like Aurors.

'In fact,' Harry thought, 'they sound quite like the Order. Never could get their shit together, that group.' He thought of their many bumbling, failed attempts at capturing him in almost fond reminiscence. He was half tempted to come out of his hiding place and invite them all inside for tea, just to see what would happen.

Except, they did make a good point: they had him. He'd never been cornered in a building before – all his prior encounters with Aurors and the Order had always been outdoors, for some reason or another. Then again, they probably didn't have the entire house surrounded. The Order had always had a very loose definition of "surrounded," which usually meant, "We've got one man at every door." But he didn't need to take out all of them – it only takes one door (or window) to get out. Harry nodded to himself with new resolve. He could get out of this. He just had to get outside.

A woman's voice calling, "Harry!" quickly followed by an equally loud "Shh!" brought his mind back to the present. The feet were shuffling again, and it sounded like they were spreading out. He berated himself for getting lost in his thoughts yet again. He knew better than to allow that to happen, and this time, there might be serious consequences. He heard footsteps nearing his hiding spot. There was no way he wouldn't be seen at this point – he just needed to find a way out of the house. Harry made the blink decision to make a run for it, away from the direction of the footsteps.

"Hey! There he is!" a man's voice yelled. "Quick, stun him! Stun him!"

Harry barely had time to register that the man's voice sounded strikingly familiar as all the footsteps seemed to change directions at once, coming after him. Harry took the stairs four at a time and dashed into the nearest room, with just happened to be his old bathroom. The window would be the perfect way out, and he ran up to it. Locked. The Order was following him up the stairs. They seemed to be taking their time, and were all talking now, phrases like, "Where was he?" and, "I don't see him, do you?" or, "Had to use the loo, I s'pose!"

He couldn't concentrate to use Alohomora!, and now it was too late – he could feel them right behind him. He stared out of the window at his almost escape, and braced himself for the attack.

Then another female voice from behind the others said, "No, don't stun him! Harry!"

A hush pervaded the group, and they all fell quiet. Harry saw no other choice but to turn and face them, and he was greeted with a substantially different Hermione Granger pushing her way to the front of the group of vaguely familiar faces. Once she got there, she just stood and looked at him, her eyes big as an owl's.

"Harry," she repeated, and reached out a hand, palm up. Out of reflex more than any sort of emotion, though he felt many at the moment, he shifted backward and pressed his back as far as it would go into the window. He stared at Hermione's hand, that seemed to wait for him to take it. He didn't understand – what was she doing? Why hadn't they attacked him by now? Why was everyone just standing in a group at the threshold of the bathroom, gazing wide-eyed into the cramped space as though there were some invisible barrier holding them out?

Then, as if to prove that there was indeed no barrier, Hermione took a step forward into the bathroom. She looked about to say something else to him, but she was interrupted by a quiet pop! of apparation and the appearance of a man between them.

Harry decided that he must be dreaming, because there in front of him stood his school nemesis Draco Malfoy dressed in muggle denims. The people outside the bathroom seemed just as shocked as Harry was, because they all erupted into shouts. Harry watched absentmindedly as Malfoy put up what appeared to be a shield charm, blocking everything that the Order threw at him.

Then he turned to Harry and said with the same old smirk that Harry remembered so well, "Sorry I'm late, Potter. Shall we?"

Without waiting for a response, Malfoy grabbed Harry's arm tight and yanked it until the next thing he knew, everything went black; he was being pressed very hard from all directions; he could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull and then – _(1)_

Harry bent at the waist, bracing himself on his knees, and he gulped great lungfuls of air, unable to stop himself from dry heaving. He kept his eyes fixed to the black and white marble floor beneath his feet, and tried to catch his breath. Malfoy moved to stand beside him, and all Harry could see was a pair of trainers that looked particularly out of place with the decor. He straightened up and let his eyes follow up from the trainers to the jeans, to the t-shirt, to the baseball cap, and the one raised eyebrow beneath it.

Malfoy said, "You look like shit. I forget that you must have never Apparated before. Well, welcome to Malfoy Manor, Potter."

* * *

A/N: Yeah, yeah, I know it's short. But we're finally getting somewhere! Aren't you happy? Please review. Suggestions welcome.

(1) Apparation description taken from Half Blood Prince, American edition, page 58


End file.
